【饥饿游戏】07
时间：2017-03-15 05:45:28
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（单词翻译）
“Well, bravo!”
gushes1 Effie Trinket. “That’s the spirit of the
Games!” She’s pleased to finally have a district with a little action
going on in it. “What’s your name?”
I swallow hard. “Katniss Everdeen,” I say.
“I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don’t want her to
steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let’s give a big
round of applause to our newest tribute!” trills Effie Trinket.
To the
everlasting2 credit of the people of District 12, not
one person claps. Not even the ones holding betting slips, the
ones who are usually beyond caring. Possibly because they
know me from the Hob, or knew my father, or have encountered
Prim3, who no one can help loving. So instead of acknowledging
applause, I stand there unmoving while they
take part in the boldest form of
dissent4 they can manage. Silence.
Which says we do not agree. We do not
condone5. All of
this is wrong.
Then something unexpected happens. At least, I don’t expect
it because I don’t think of District 12 as a place that cares
about me. But a shift has occurred since I stepped up to take
Prim’s place, and now it seems I have become someone precious.
At first one, then another, then almost every member of
the crowd touches the three middle fingers of their left hand
to their lips and holds it out to me. It is an old and rarely used
gesture of our district, occasionally seen at funerals. It means
thanks, it means
admiration6, it means good-bye to someone
you love.
Now I am truly in danger of crying, but fortunately Haymitch
chooses this time to come staggering across the stage to
congratulate me. “Look at her. Look at this one!” he hollers,
throwing an arm around my shoulders. He’s surprisingly
strong for such a
wreck7. “I like her!” His breath
reeks8 of liquor
and it’s been a long time since he’s bathed. “Lots of . . . “ He
can’t think of the word for a while. “Spunk!” he says
triumphantly9. “More than you!” he releases me and starts for the
front of the stage. “More than you!” he shouts, pointing directly
into a camera.
Is he addressing the audience or is he so drunk he might actually
be
taunting10 the Capitol? I’ll never know because just as
he’s opening his mouth to continue, Haymitch
plummets11 off
the stage and knocks himself unconscious.
He’s disgusting, but I’m grateful. With every camera gleefully
trained on him, I have just enough time to release the small,
choked sound in my throat and compose myself. I put my
hands behind my back and stare into the distance.
I can see the hills I climbed this morning with
Gale12. For a
moment, I
yearn13 for something . . . the idea of us leaving the
district . . . making our way in the woods . . . but I know I was
right about not running off. Because who else would have
volunteered for Prim?
Haymitch is whisked away on a stretcher, and Effie Trinket
is trying to get the ball rolling again. “What an exciting day!”
she warbles as she attempts to straighten her
wig14, which has
listed
severely15 to the right. “But more excitement to come! It’s
time to choose our boy tribute!” Clearly hoping to contain her
tenuous16 hair situation, she plants one hand on her head as she
crosses to the ball that contains the boys’ names and grabs the
first slip she encounters. She zips back to the podium, and I
don’t even have time to wish for Gale’s safety when she’s reading
the name.
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